“Why would you show them to Hope?”

“Because she saw the man who abducted her mother. I have to assume whoever took Bailey did so because of the letter she got from her brother, Wade, or else Beardsley wouldn’t be missing now.”

“That makes sense. But then what? I hate to be a broken record, but we’re trying to solve the murders of four women left in ditches. How are you going to connect whoever took Bailey to whoever’s killing the women?”

“You assume it’s not the same person.”

Luke blinked. “I guess I did.”

“And you’re probably right. Whoever took Bailey doesn’t want anyone to know about the rapes and the pictures. Whoever’s killing the women wants us to focus on Alicia Tremaine. I don’t know how I’ll connect them. All I know is that this SOB doesn’t leave anything behind on the body or at the scene that can identify him. If I can find out who took Bailey, something else might shake out.”

“Fair enough,” Luke said. “So you want me to get these fifty photos down to five or six so we can show them to Hope. You’re going to have her talk to an artist, right? If she can give the artist some basic description, we can cherry-pick from the fifty.”

Daniel stood up. “I’ll tell Mary to get you whatever they come up with. I’ve got to get down to Dutton to talk to Rob Davis and Garth. But first I have to call the SA. Fulmore was telling the truth about the ring and he didn’t hit Alicia while she was alive, so the man is not guilty of murder. Abuse of a corpse, but not murder.”

“Chloe’s gonna love you,” Luke said, shaking his head. “Not.”

“As long as-” Daniel stopped himself short. As long as Alex does, he’d been about to say. But that was premature. Maybe. But he was still warm from the… rightness of holding her in one arm and a little girl in the other. It was certainly more than he’d ever had before. It could end up being nothing more than good sex.

Really, really, really good sex.

But he didn’t think so, and Daniel was a man to trust his instincts.

“As long as what?” Luke asked, one side of his mouth quirking up.

“As long as Chloe does the right thing by Fulmore,” Daniel said quietly. “But that’s not the biggest thing. If Fulmore is telling the truth about that ring, then the Dutton police planted evidence.”

“Chase already gave Chloe the heads-up on Frank Loomis,” Luke said.

“I know. They’re going to open a formal investigation.”

“Are you okay with that? I mean, the guy was your friend.”

“No, I’m not okay with that,” Daniel snapped, “but if he planted evidence, he sent an innocent man to prison for thirteen years and let a killer walk free, and I’m even less okay with that.”

Luke held up his hands. “Sorry.”

Daniel realized he was grinding his teeth and forced himself to relax. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t bark at you. Thanks for all of this. I gotta go.”

“Wait.” Luke pushed two yearbooks across the table, one stacked on the other, opened to the senior graduation pictures. “Yours and your sister’s. I thought you might like to have them.”

Daniel looked at the photo on the bottom row and his heart hurt. Susannah Vartanian maintained a cool, sophisticated air in her senior picture, but he knew she’d been silently miserable. He needed to call her before the press got wind of the rapes Talia Scott was investigating. He owed her that much. He owed her a great deal more.

Atlanta, Thursday, February 1, 11:15 a.m.

Most likely to be president of the United States. Daniel traced a finger over his senior picture in his high school yearbook. His classmates had voted him so because he’d been so serious and sober. So studious and sincere. He’d been the class president and captain of the debate team. He’d lettered in football and baseball every single year. He’d had straight As. His teachers had seen him as having integrity. Ethics. The son of a judge.

Who’d been a sonofabitch.

Who’d been the reason Daniel had pushed himself so hard. He’d known his father was not all everyone believed. He’d overheard the whispered conversations between Judge Arthur Vartanian and the late-night visitors to his office on the first floor of the house in which Daniel had grown up. He knew where his father had hidden things all over their old house. He knew his father kept a whole cache of unregistered guns and stacks of cash. He’d always suspected his father had been on the take, but he’d never been able to prove it.

He’d lived his life trying to make up for being Arthur Vartanian’s son.

His eyes moved to the other yearbook and stared sadly at his sister Susannah’s picture. She lived her life trying to forget she was Arthur Vartanian’s daughter. She’d been voted most likely to succeed and she had, but at what cost? Susannah harbored secret pain she’d share with no one… even me. Especially me.

He’d gone away to college, then he’d gone away to the police academy. Then after his father had burned Simon’s pictures, he’d just gone away. And left Susannah in that house. With Simon.

Daniel swallowed. And Simon had hurt her. Daniel knew it was true. He was afraid he knew how. He had to find out. With fingers that trembled, he dialed Susannah’s number at work. He knew all her numbers by heart. After five rings, he heard her voice.

“You’ve reached the voicemail of Susannah Vartanian. If this is urgent, please-”

Daniel hung up and called her assistant. He knew the assistant’s number by heart, too. “Hi, this is Agent Vartanian. I need to speak to Susannah. It’s urgent.”

The assistant hesitated. “She’s not available, sir.”

“Wait,” Daniel said before the woman hung up. “Tell her I have to speak to her. Tell her it’s a matter of life and death.”

“I’ll tell her.”

A minute later, Daniel heard Susannah’s voice again, live this time. “Hello, Daniel.” But there was no joy in her greeting. Only wary distance.

His heart hurt. “Suze. How are you?”

“Busy. Being out of the office for so long, I had stacks of work waiting for me when I got back. You know how that goes.”

They’d buried their parents, but immediately after the funeral Susannah had flown back to New York and he hadn’t talked to her since. “I know. Have you seen the news from down here?”

“Yes. Three women, found dead in ditches. I’m sorry, Daniel.”

“Four, actually. We just found the fourth. Jim Woolf’s little sister.”

“Oh, no.” He heard pain and surprise in her voice. “I’m sorry, Daniel.”

“We have something the news hasn’t reported yet, but will soon. Suze, it’s the pictures.”

He heard her exhale. “The pictures.”

“Yes. We’ve identified all the girls.”

“Really?” She sounded truly shocked. “How?”

Daniel drew a breath. “Alicia Tremaine was one of them. She was the girl murdered thirteen years ago, the one all these new murders are copying. Sheila Cunningham was another. She died in what we’re supposed to think was a robbery of Presto’s Pizza two nights ago. Some of the others Alicia’s sister has identified.” He’d tell her about Alex a different time. This call would not be one either he or Susannah would want to remember. “We’ve started interviewing them. They’re all around thirty years old now.” Same as you, he wanted to say, but didn’t. “They’re all telling the same story. They fell asleep in their cars. When they woke they were fully clothed, and-”

“And holding a whiskey bottle,” she finished woodenly.

His throat closed. “Oh, Suze. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because you were gone,” she said, her voice suddenly angry and harsh. “You were gone, Daniel, and Simon wasn’t.”

“You knew it was Simon?”

When she spoke again, she was back in control. “Oh, yes. He made sure of it.” Then she sighed. “You don’t have all the pictures, Daniel.”

“I don’t understand.” But he was very afraid he did. “Are you saying there was one of you?” She said nothing and he had his answer. “What happened to it?” he asked.